


tell you what's on my mind

by sciencebluefeelings



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Forced Starvation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Muzzles, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebluefeelings/pseuds/sciencebluefeelings
Summary: Ambassador Spock attempts to placate an angry diplomat and is accidentally caught in a dangerous situation.Prompt word: muzzles





	tell you what's on my mind

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [@Fannibalistic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fannibalistic/pseuds/Fannibalistic) and [@sleepless_siren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepless_siren) for betaing!

Jim looked in horror at the aftermath of a diplomatic interaction gone wrong.

The interaction had seemed normal enough. Ambassador Spock was in the middle of a crowd of other diplomats, talking to someone. Sometimes discussions could get heated but it never warranted a double take. 

But there appeared to be some sort of lethal miscommunication, and in an instant the arguing diplomat was up in his face. Bodyguards snapped to action.

There was a sharp crack amongst the turmoil of bodies, leaving in its wake a shocked crowd and Spock lying prone, face down on the polished stateroom floor.

“_Spock!_”

Jim dropped the captainly facade in a desperate lunge for the collapsed body. His knees slammed into the hard floor with bruising force but he was numb to the sensation. 

Jim turned Spock over and stared in shock at a conspicuous opaque mask sealed around Spock's head, covering his nose and mouth. His eyes were closed.

Jim shook the Ambassador, frantic with worry. “Spock? Are you okay? Can you breathe? Spock! Answer me!”

Spock finally responded to the touch, blinking and wincing silently. Jim helped him stand up, eyes still laser focused on him. Spock looked at Jim with wide eyes. There's still no answer. Jim ran his fingers along the edges of the hideous muzzle, trying to discern some way to remove it.

“Stop! I would not recommend that,” the tall diplomat yelped. “You risk poisoning him by activating the anti-tamper function.” 

“What?” Jim whipped his head up to glare at the diplomat, his panic shifting to anger. The diplomat and her bodyguard looked abashed for the events that had just transpired.

Spock rubbed at Jim's shoulders in a placating gesture, but Jim had no patience to be kind. “Care to explain what the fuck is this, Ambassador?”

Spock gave Jim a disapproving look. Jim could almost hear his sigh.

“The mechanism is a last defense resort,” the diplomat said, still ashamed. “It was never meant to trigger.”

Bones and the younger Spock made their way to the front of the crowd. Ambassador Spock gestured to his counterpart, who promptly strode over and accepted a touch to his meld points.

“Ambassador Spock is uninjured,” he said in a low voice. “He is able to breathe, however airflow has been restricted by approximately sixty point five percent. Respiratory functions will be manageable so long as he does not undergo strenuous circumstances.”

Jim returned his attention to the diplomat. “How are we supposed to remove the damn thing?”

“The restraints naturally deteriorate after three hundred Standard days. Until then it is meant to wholly impair oral communication or attack. This is a standard method of restraint in our culture, Captain. The Tav are a photosynthetic species that do not require oral consumption to sustain ourselves.”

Ten fucking months. Jim looked helplessly at Spock.

Spock's fingers dropped from his counterpart's face and they exchanged a glance. Younger Spock said, “Vulcans are acclimated to the desert climate. It is possible to endure three hundred days without food or water with proper preparatory measures and meditation. However, it is dangerously close to the capable limits of our bodies.”

With a pang of fear, Jim thought about Spock's mixed heritage and human blood, blood that can survive without water for only a meager three to four days.

Bones intervened. “Enough of this standing around and getting gawked at. We're going back to Medical Bay. Now.”

*

The doctor kept shaking his head as he scanned the mask and Ambassador Spock, over and over.

Jim and Spock's counterpart waited in close proximity, and Jim felt his frown growing as Bones grew less optimistic. “What is it, Bones?”

“The diplomat said ten months?” 

“Yeah.”

Bones grimaced and lowered the tricorder. “I suspect it'll become problematic after seven months or so, even with artificial hydration and nutrition. I don't recommend repeated hypo use for elongated periods of time. We'll probably have to resort to intravenous fluid replacement during the final months.” Even as he spoke, he administered a hypospray to Spock's neck.

Spock raised his eyebrows at the doctor, whose disgruntled expression didn't change. “Don't think I didn't notice you hadn't eaten dinner at the event yet, Ambassador. Busybody hobgoblin.” 

Spock rolled his eyes to the side in a concede of defeat. His younger counterpart appeared amused by the exchange.

“Don't think I didn't notice that, Spock!”

Both Spocks froze as Bones pointed a crooked finger. “It's bad enough dealing with one of your ridiculous anomaly-of-medical-science bodies. Now I gotta handle _two_ of 'em. And twice the logic-y logic yapping,” he grumbled.

“Alright, I think that's enough coddling, Doctor,” Jim said, amused. “Ambassador, let me show you to the guest quarters.”

“Then I shall return to the bridge, Captain.” The younger Spock nodded at them. Jim touched his shoulder in agreement, and he departed.

Jim glanced back at the older Vulcan. He was looking at the floor, still as stone.

It's Bones' turn to roll his eyes.

*

Starfleet decided that involving Ambassador Spock in negotiations during his current state would be more trouble than necessary and allowed him ten months of leave.

He was probably resting in his private quarters now. 

Jim was uncharacteristically silent as he sat in the captain's chair, staring at the viewing portal ahead, unable to stop thinking about the Ambassador.

The stars seemed to drag by, mirroring the slow passage of time.

Jim heard the swish of the turbolift doors and turned to see Bones stomping towards him. He was holding a hypospray. “Jim, have you seen Ambassador Spock today?”

“No, not yet.” Jim was planning to visit him right after his shift.

Sulu turned and grinned at the doctor. “Probably avoiding you like the rest of us, Doc. Believe it or not, not all of us wanna be treated like pincushions.”

Chekov giggled, and Jim couldn't help smiling at that. 

“Ah, shut up, you,” Bones scowled. He turned to one of the bridge crew. “Hey, you. Locate the Ambassador for me.”

The lieutenant typed something into her screen. She paused. “Ambassador Spock is currently located in Turboshaft 8, Turbolift 4.”

“The one near Medical Bay? 'Kay, thank you.”

“Doctor.” The lieutenant grabs his sleeve, stopping him from striding away. “His location is not moving.”

Jim froze. Bones frowned. “What?”

The lieutenant quickly brought up another screen before looking up at Jim. “Captain, the turbolift has not moved from the location for thirty-three minutes.”

_Shit_. “Sulu, you have the conn.” Jim was out of the chair in an instant, his heart in his throat.

*

“But are you _sure_ you're okay?” Jim said again.

Spock looked up from his PADD with a raised eyebrow, the screen now filled with the history of their conversation.

_>> I am fine _

_>> Yes _

_>> Yes _

_>> It appeared the vocal controls were functioning properly _

_>> However the auxiliary tactile interface and emergency escape have deteriorated _

_>> I did not wish to unnecessarily damage the turbolift. I knew I would be located eventually. _

_>> Yes I am fine _

_>> Please calm down Jim _

_>> Vulcans do not lie Jim_

Jim sighed and looked at Spock again. He should just be thankful that Spock looked more embarrassed than afraid when they opened the doors. The Vulcan had been sitting crossed-legged in the center of the floor in shallow meditation.

Bones shook his head. “You should've put that goddamn hobgoblin strength to use and escaped, Spock. Never mind damaging the ship.” With the hypo successfully administered, he departed. Probably seeking his next victim.

Jim crossed his arms and glared at the crew looking on close by. “I am thoroughly _appalled_ that my ship is not up to regulation,” he said. “Fix this. Also, before the Ambassador gets back to his room, I expect all voice controls modified to accommodate him.”

Jim made a shooing motion with one hand. The crew scattered.

Spock shook his head at him fondly. Jim could almost hear his thoughts. _'Captain, there is no need to intimidate your crew for my sake.ʼ_

Jim argued, “C'mon, Ambassador. They need to take me seriously at least _sometimes_.”

Spock's eyes wrinkled up in affection. If there wasn't a mask, Jim might've seen the subtle curve of delicate, kissable lips.

Jim's hand reached out to trace the line of Spock's chin.

Before Jim could touch him, Spock stepped back and raised the PADD between them.

_>> Do not worry about me, Jim_.

Jim awkwardly retracted the hand, rubbing his neck. “Yeah. I should, uh. Get back to the bridge now. Yeah.”

Jim didn't move. Spock showed Jim the PADD again.

_>> I will consider the stairs next time._

Jim laughed, and Spock looked satisfied.

*

The first thing Jim did when he finished alpha shift was venture to Ambassador Spock's quarters and ring the doorbell. “Spock?”

A few moments later, Spock opened the door, his eyes warm as always when he greets Jim. He guided Jim into the room.

It was disconcerting to feel the room at a regular temperature. Jim frowned. “Aren't you cold? I thought I told the crew to modify the voice controls already. Can you adjust the temperature?”

Spock took a PADD and quickly tapped at the screen.

_>> Lowered ambient temperature is necessary_

Jim looked at the computer monitor, indicating a recently ended video call. Spock typed something else.

_>> Finished conversation with Tavian ambassador. We both understand the circumstances were unfortunate and there was no one at fault_

Jim tamped down the desperation within him to place the blame on someone, _anything._

Spock put down the PADD and sat on the edge of the couch next to the desk. He looked a little listless. Jim prompted, “Something wrong?”

Spock gestured something simple in Vulcan sign, then looked at Jim assessingly as if expecting him not to understand.

_Headache._

The translation made it unclear whether it was a headache or migraine. Jim said, “Computer, lights at fifty percent.” He looked at Spock, who gave him a grateful nod. “Be right back, okay?”

Jim returned from the replicator with a cool compress. As Spock reclined in the seat, Jim applied the compress to his forehead. “Hold it there for fifteen minutes. Should I get a hydration hypo from Bones? The headache might be from not enough water.” 

Spock shook his head, his eyes closed. Jim sat on the arm of the couch, not taking his eyes off the older Vulcan.

His chest rose and fell evenly, the only indicator of otherwise silent breathing. Jim's eyes traced the lines of his neck up to the mask.

The mask was a sleek, stark white against tanned skin covered in soft lines. If it wasn't actively killing Spock, Jim might've thought it looked elegant. Spock's greying hair looked darker in contrast to the white color of the mask. It was disconcerting.

Spock noticed Jim's lingering presence. He grabbed the PADD again.

_>> You do not have to stay_

“I don't understand.”

_>> I apologize for inconveniencing you_

“What? Have I done something to make you feel that way? You're never an inconvenience, Spock.” Jim unnecessarily adjusted the compress, a flimsy excuse to be in contact with Spock again, but Spock turned away.

Jim stared at the mask. “Are you going to sleep now?”

Spock nodded once. He looked uncomfortable, almost nervous.

Jim hesitated, wanting to embrace, to soothe and comfort.

But Spock had been quite obvious when he pulled away from Jim's hands. There was nothing left to do. 

Jim suppressed a sigh and left to return to his own quarters.

*

“Captain, wake up.”

Jim bolted upright from his bed and stared at his first officer, who was standing at the opened entry to their adjoined bathroom. The Vulcan’s usual neat hair and sleep clothes were disheveled. “S-Spock? Whas' going on?”

“You must go to the Ambassador immediately,” Spock said, his voice tainted with an uncharacteristic level of concern. 

Jim was definitely awake now. He crawled out of bed and followed his first officer.

“He has been hiding this from us for consecutive nights,” Spock said, aggravated. Jim had to jog to keep up with the Vulcan's longer legs. Spock pushed open the Ambassador's door, which was already ajar.

The Ambassador was curled up face down on the floor next to the bed, his hands clawing his mask. He was trembling, a sheen of sweat covering his bare torso. 

“Fuck.” Jim fell to the ground and wrapped his arms around him. “_Fuck._ Spock, it's okay. Here, breathe with me.” Jim grasped a bony hand and pressed it to his own chest, steadily breathing in and out. Spock's thoughts leaking through the touch were disorganized and frantic. Jim focused on breathing, projecting his own stable state of mind.

Jim felt Spock register the contact and begin to relax into him.

Then he shoved Jim away.

“Ambassador.” The younger Spock's voice was sharp as he kneeled down as well. Spock pressed uncoordinated fingers to his counterpart's face almost angrily, and his counterpart slapped the hand away. The younger Vulcan's words were precise and frustrated. “I retrieved him against your wishes because he is the only one that can help you.”

Spock curled up again. The younger Spock's voice softened. “Ambassador, please. Your illogical actions are harming your well-being. Let yourself be comforted.”

Spock's shoulders trembled. Jim dared to slide his hand into Spock's, and this time he was not rejected.

Emotions simmered at a relentless pace. Panic, guilt, and the distinct, heavy feeling of exhaustion. 

And a faintly veiled burn of desire. 

Jim's eyes widened.

As Spock's breathing evened out, he leaned forward further and further until his body was pressed into Jim's, his head resting on Jim's shoulder. Jim found himself holding his breath, as if keeping still would prolong the moment. 

The younger Spock brought the PADD and offered it. Spock took it gratefully.

_>> i apologize to both of you_

Jim and the younger Spock looked at each other.

_>> i did not wish to intrude. jim im sorry please disregard anything that was projected to you_

Jim began, “Spock, what the fuck-”

Spock raised his voice over Jim's. “Ambassador, you do realize we are not in an intimate relationship, nor do we plan to pursue a relationship of intimate nature?”

The Ambassador froze in Jim's arms. Jim found himself unconsciously clutching at him, but he made no move to escape.

The younger Spock's face was coloring with a deep blush,a rare sight Jim would've wholly delighted in under different circumstances. Spock continued to speak, “Not only am I satisfied with our current dynamic, it - our friendship means a great deal to me. I would not ask for anything different.”

Ambassador Spock was still frozen.

Younger Spock stood up and straightened his shirt, still looking embarrassed. “That is all I have to say. Captain, Ambassador, I shall now return to my quarters. Good night.”

The Ambassador made a movement as if to stop him but he was already out the door. 

“Bye, Commander,” Jim called. He beamed at his first officer as he exited. “Cute, isn't he?”

Jim almost flinched at the sting of possessiveness he felt through his skin. _Fuck, that's strong._ Spock immediately tried to back away.

“No, no no no. No more of this running away bullshit.” Jim glared and helped Spock up. His body was so light. “Sit.” Jim pressed him down on bed before sitting next to him. “Meld with me, Spock.”

Spock looked hesitant. Jim softened.

“We don't have to do this tonight. But just letting you know now, I'm not leaving this room until my next shift. Which isn't until tomorrow morning.”

Spock lifted his hands, then lowered them, his fingers clenching and unclenching. He finally raised a hand again. He let a finger press to the skin of Jim's face. Spock traced the contours slowly, with wonder in his eyes.

One finger becomes a hand, and Jim felt the beginning of a meld tingling at his consciousness. 

Jim slid in and was overwhelmed by the onslaught of desire.

_Spock? _

_My dearest Jim, my beloved._

Jim was not going to cry again. What was it with mind melds that always rendered him a blubbering mess?

_Spock, if I'd known you love me this much - this whole time I thought you weren't interested in me that way. _

_I was under the impression that you were involved with my counterpart, and I could not begrudge him for having what I was afraid to pursue in my own reality._

Jim sighed.

_We can talk about this later. Right now you need to tell me what the fuck's going on and why my first officer found you on the bedroom floor. _

_My body appears to be reacting to the mask while I am attempting to sleep. The terrors occur from being unable to properly breathe._

Spock let his hand drop. By now, both were lying on their sides, gazing at each other.

A huff of laughter escaped Jim. “I cannot believe your level of denial, Spock. I was always calling you to chat. What did you think I was doing?”

Spock tucked his head into Jim’s neck. The mask was cold and ungiving against his skin.

Jim pulled the covers around them, tucking them around Spock. He kissed Spock's forehead, and felt reluctant drowsiness through the contact. “Sleep, old man. I got you.”

*

_Jim looked at himself and Spock inside a familiar cave of ice. _

_Spock said Jim's full name with awe. Jim scrambled to his feet and demanded to know how Spock knew his name. _

_It was a startlingly clear replication of the fateful first encounter they shared, but the edges of the scene were hazy enough that Jim knew he was seeing what Spock was dreaming. _

_The memories passed slightly faster than real time, and Jim watched Spock guide him out of the ice planet and to the Starfleet base to escape the planet. Then Jim saw Spock look at him from afar as Jim received command of Enterprise. He saw Spock approaching his own counterpart to convince the younger Vulcan to stay with Jim, and even as Spock spoke it felt like he was grieving for Jim again. _

_The days spent alone in his house were silent. _

_Then Jim saw the first time he contacted Spock from the Enterprise. _

_The older Vulcan had been surprised by his initiative. He felt thankful and guilty each time Jim video called, and he was just selfish enough that he did not ask Jim to stop. Jim watched their gentle conversations, their virtual games of chess. The lingering emptiness when the calls ended were unbearable. _

_The location shifted and came to an abrupt stop in the elevator. _

_Spock was alone. Trapped. _

_The manual controls were not working. None of them. The voice control repeatedly prompted him, but Spock could not hear the steady mechanical voice. The walls were closing in. Spock tried to draw in a deep breath, but the muzzle prevented it as it has been doing for the last sixty-one days. Spock spoke, he tried to scream, but the air could not be forced out of his lungs. The muzzle was a solid material but it felt as if it was constricting tighter and tighter and melting into his skin through his teeth and throat_

“Spock!”

Jim fought the transference of the meld with gritted teeth. He’s back in the bed. Spock was thrashing against Jim’s grip in blind panic.

Jim realized with dread that the calm state Spock was in when they rescued him from the turbolift was only the very end of the story.

“Spock? Spock? Breathe with me, Spock.”

Jim’s heart broke as he watched Spock struggling to match his pace. There’s pure terror in his eyes. He’s trying, he was genuinely trying to control his hyperventilated breaths. It was a completely futile effort. 

Spock went limp against Jim, his grasp loosening. Jim checked his pulse. He's fainted, perhaps for the better. Jim rearranged Spock’s body and raised his legs above heart level before waiting for him to return to consciousness. 

There were bruises around Jim's wrists where the Vulcan couldn't control his strength. They stung fiercely.

Spock slowly blinked his eyes open. Jim pressed his face to Spock’s, feeling charming worn skin and the hard texture of the muzzle.

Spock reached for Jim, holding him close. He ran his fingers along Jim's wrists tenderly. Jim felt his fatigue and frustration constricted in his lungs.

Jim didn’t let go. Neither of them fell asleep that night.

*

Jim had basically abandoned his private quarters in favor of residence in Spock's room.

(His first officer did not mind. In fact, he claimed the arrangement was beneficial to them all, as now his own quarters were void of Jim's deafening snores.)

Spock and Jim lay in bed together, easily connected in an intimate mind meld.

_I talked to Bones today. You know you can't keep avoiding those hyposprays. _

_Jim, I confess - I barely tolerated them even before I acquired this muzzle. It gives me a sensation of nausea each time, and the feeling has only become more potent. Now I feel an even greater sense of trepidation. I have become - fearful of choking from vomiting. _

_Oh, Spock. We should talk to Bones about this. _

_Yes, ashaya. _

Jim didn't move. The ship hummed under them.

“Ten months, Spock.”

Spock didn't respond.

*

Bones called Jim over the intercom. 

Jim ran to Medical Bay, and with a heaving chest, he stared at monitors and surgical tubing and a very still body on the bed. An oxygen mask was placed awkwardly above the muzzle.

Jim learned Spock collapsed in the hallway minutes ago and someone had to carry him here.

It has been only three months.

*

The oxygen mask was doing nothing to assist Spock's breathing. It was removed early on.

Bones and Commander Spock spent sleepless nights attempting to find a way to bypass the muzzle. 

They learned many things. They learned the two Vulcans’ bodies were similar but not identical, and Ambassador Spock’s advanced age formed crucial differences. To attempt a tracheostomy or create some other surgically made hole to the elder Vulcan respiratory system would eventually lead to lung failure as the organ collapsed on itself.

Spock grew weaker every hour. He couldn't sit up. He couldn't even muster the strength to communicate through a mind meld. 

Jim sat next to Spock daily and offered a PADD, and every time Spock turned away.

The gesture was loud and clear. Spock had nothing to say.

Bones pulled Jim aside into his office, and Jim already knew he wouldn't like what the doctor had to tell him.

Bones' expression was hard but his tone was gentle. “He can't last much longer like this, Jim. I thought he'd have more time. It's looking more like he has only two or three weeks left.”

The edges of Jim's vision went dark. “Bones. Bones, no.”

Bones let out a breath. “I have an idea. We can still try to save him. We could try removing the goddamn muzzle and - pick up the pieces afterwards. Help the Ambassador through the consequences of activating the anti-tamper function.” Bones paused. “I've heard Tavian poison is some of the fucking worst.”

Jim thought about Spock, already weak and bedridden, exposed to the excruciating pain.

Bones saw Jim's expression and wrapped an arm around Jim. “I know. I wouldn't recommend operating, but it's the only option we got.”

Jim looked at Bones, refusing to let his watering eyes spill over. “My first officer? What's he think?”

“Spock and I have already discussed the Ambassador's procedure. He's started collecting blood and will be available during the surgery. We've already arranged a conference call with the Tav.”

Jim took a steadying breath. Then another. He raised his head, eyes filled with renewed determination. “We're going to need all the help we can get.”

*

Jim, Commander Spock, Bones and select members of the _Enterprise_ crew sat in a conference room, facing a screen projecting the face of the Tavian diplomat.

The Tavian diplomat nodded at Jim. “Captain Kirk. We received your message. I have brought the most experienced Tavian engineers and medical experts I could find.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation.” Jim took a deep breath. “I need to know everything about the Tavian mask, and fast. We don't have a lot of time. My - Ambassador Spock's life is on the line.”

“We will do our best to assist you, Captain,” the Tavian diplomat agreed. “Failure is not an option.”

*

Spock read the PADD as Bones spoke. He explained the discussions with the Tavians in quick detail before outlining the procedure, possible side effects, and extensive after surgery care plan.

Everything was ready now. They were just waiting for Spock’s answer.

Jim's heart was in his throat as Spock typed on the PADD.

_>> I would like to speak to the Captain privately._

Bones shot a concerned glance at Jim before leaving.

Jim sat down on the side of the bed. He inched closer to the frail-looking body under the blankets. He was almost afraid a single touch would shatter it.

Spock held his palm up. Jim took the cue as permission to raise the lovely, bony wrist towards his face. His hand was cooler than Jim remembered. 

Spock's fingers easily found Jim's meld points, and Spock grimaced as he forced a weak meld. Jim struggled to maintain the mental connection. 

Spock's words were a faint, rough whisper even in Jim's mind.

_Jim. . . I have calculated the odds myself, countless times. The answer remains the same. It would be impossible for me to survive this operation. _

_Fuck, Spock. That's not true. Don't say that. _

_Oh, my love. The lengths you go to for my single soul. The crew will waste their efforts attempting this surgery. _

_You'd die anyways!_

Jim couldn't listen to this anymore. He dropped Spock's hand to press his head against that faintly beating Vulcan heart. 

Spock let his hand graze against Jim's skin. Jim could feel his regret over things he will never be able to say.

Specifically. . .

Jim’s voice was broken. “_You’ll say it._ Just hold on a little longer, Spock.” Jim caressed Spock’s hand in a Vulcan kiss. “Trust Bones. Trust my crew.”

Spock held Jim's gaze. Even in those gaunt eyes, his affection overflowed.

“Please, Spock.”

Spock's eyes slid closed. His hand on the blanket signed a gesture of acquiesce. He has given his consent to the operation.

Jim sighed. He pressed his lips to Spock's forehead.

He was immediately alarmed by the lack of a stream of thought through the contact.

The vital signs monitor showed a rapidly faltering heartbeat. Jim's own heart spiked in terror. “Bones? Bones!”

Jim sprinted away from the bed. “_Bones!_”

*

Jim sat in the hospital chair, staring at the doors where Spock had been wheeled into surgery.

He wasn’t leaving until the operation was over.

The younger Spock briskly walked into view, looking odd in medical scrubs. “Captain. The Ambassador has transferred his katra to you, yes?”

Jim’s head was a blur. Why does that sound familiar? And very important? Jim almost didn’t want to ask. “. . . Spock? What is a katra?” Spock froze. 

Spock looked like he was having a severe internal debate. Finally, he explained, “It is the essence of the Vulcan mind, and it can be transferred to another person before death.”

Jim processed this new information. 

“. . . What the fuck? You mean I could've held onto Spock’s soul in case the surgery didn’t work?”

Spock said something especially unpleasant in Vulcan. “The one holding the katra is vulnerable to severe shock, and the process to restore a katra to a Vulcan is a highly risky one. The Ambassador promised me he would discuss this with you. I should have suspected he would lie to me.”

“Well,” Jim said numbly. “There’s nothing we can do now.”

Spock shook his head. “I must join the doctor now, Captain.” He disappeared through the doors.

Jim put his head in his hands.

The clock ticked steadily overhead.

*

Jim spared a glance at the time. Over an hour has passed.

*

People dropped by occasionally to comfort Jim. Some briefly gave him encouraging words and a hand on his shoulder, others sat and waited a little while with him. Jim didn’t dare look up at them. They might’ve convinced him to leave, or worse, cause him to start crying from the unbearable tension. 

Jim remembered the touch and whisper of Uhura at his side. She waited with Jim the longest before giving him a final hug and disappearing.

*

“Please don't leave me. Please, Spock.”

*

“Jim.”

Jim startled at the sound of the doctor’s voice. He was standing in front of Jim in his medical scrubs. The younger Spock was right behind him, watching.

“He's stable for now, Jim. We did it. He's alive.”

It’s a good thing Jim was sitting in the chair. There was no way his legs would’ve been able to support him at that point. A broken sob escaped his chest. 

Bones let out a heavy breath. “I’ll admit I was worried for a while. He’s still not clear, but we think if he can manage the healing trance, he’ll be able to make a full recovery. You can see him in a couple hours.”

“Bones. Thank you.”

For once, Bones silently accepted Jim’s gratefulness. 

*

One of the Tavian doctors was still on video call, studying the readings in real time.

“It is an unprecedented feat to successfully remove the mask when it is premature, Captain. Your chief medical officer is a remarkable man.”

Jim managed to nod at the doctor, who thankfully seemed to understand Jim’s distracted state of mind.

The voices of Bones and the doctor faded as Jim took in the sight of Spock lying in bed, still unconscious despite the anesthesia wearing off.

Even with the monitors showing Spock’s heartbeat, Jim had to keep reminding himself that Bones said Spock was alive. The older Vulcan’s skin was a dull pallor and his chest moved so slowly it looked like he was completely still.

The ventilator mask obscured long bandages over the bridge of his nose and under his chin where the edges of the muzzle had been.

Jim brushed at Spock's grey hair with trembling fingers.

Bones froze. His sharp gaze scanned the monitors.

“Jim, you have to go. Now.”

Jim backed out as Bones slammed a hand on the intercom and barked for assistance. Jim leaned on the wall and watched in bewilderment as a flurry of activity began once more.

*

The next twenty hours passed like that, with Spock slipping in and out of a critical state. 

When his condition finally stabilized again, Jim watched Spock from afar, afraid he had something to do with it. Bones had told him he wasn't at fault, but Jim stubbornly kept his distance.

Bones shook his head. “He's not waking up, but for some reason he’s also not entering the healing trance. Spock and I can’t figure out why.”

Jim's first officer was the one to convince Jim to go rest. 

He went to his private quarters and washed mechanically. 

The last thing he remembered after changing into his sleep clothes was falling onto the mattress. 

*

“Captain, did you hear what I just said?”

Jim glared at Spock from where he was sitting on the bed, tangled in his covers. His first officer was standing next to one edge, neat in his uniform and focused on him.

“You cannot be distracted, Captain.”

“How am I supposed to concentrate on anything?” Jim snapped. “For all we know, the Ambassador will never come out of that coma.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I’m - I can’t.” His voice was trembling on the brink of tears. “I thought I could handle this, but I can’t. I’m emotionally compromised. Please - somebody.”

He couldn't find words.

Spock carefully put a hand on Jim's shoulder, a calculated gesture of comfort. 

Jim gave Spock a weak smile of gratitude. Spock nodded. “How much time do you need?”

Jim took a deep breath. “I don't know, Spock.”

*

His entire crew was worried about him.

Jim tried his best to take care of himself for the sake of their morale, but it was so hard.

He sat alone in a booth in the mess hall, chewing his food without tasting it. Bones was the one who demanded he sit and eat, and Jim didn’t want the already overworked doctor concerned about him.

Suddenly there was a commotion at the entrance. Jim vaguely registered the intercom calling for him. The noise mixed with a young voice rising above the others. 

“ - someone get the Captain? Captain!” The young nurse dashed around tables towards him, her voice filled with elation. “Captain Kirk!”

Jim leapt to his feet, food forgotten.

Spock was awake.

*

Despite Bones's earlier deep cleansing, the first thing Spock did after waking up was brush his teeth. Jim hovered behind Spock in the cramped bathroom as he kept coughing and spitting into the sonic sink. It was painful to listen to.

Spock could not stand on his own for a long period of time, and Jim had to help him back to bed.

Jim carefully adjusted the position of Spock’s IV pole and sat down in a chair next to his bed. Spock rested with his eyes closed and lips parted, his breathing slightly ragged. He held Jim’s hand, and his projections pulsed sluggishly between discordant, unreadable thoughts and blank pain.

Jim fed him ice chips and listened to the steady noise of the monitor.

Spock fell asleep again quickly, clearly exhausted and still feeling the effects of the painkillers.

Jim played a game with an AI on his PADD while he waited.

An hour passed, then another. Jim was just about to decide whether to get dinner or not when he heard the rustle of blankets.

Jim was alert in an instant, entwining his hand into Spock's. “Hi, babe.”

Spock pressed Jim's hand to his cheek, then to his lips.

“You okay? What do you need?”

Spock kissed Jim's hand again, as if reveling in the sensation of the rough skin against his lips.

Jim leaned down, removing his hand to tilt up Spock’s chin with gentle fingers. The bandages on his face were gone, revealing long neat cuts that have scarred over. 

Jim kissed Spock, and he tasted harsh mint. “That okay?”

Spock reached for Jim’s shirt and tugged with a wordless pout, then blinked in realization. 

“. . . Jim,” Spock said, as if tasting each phonetic of the syllable.

Jim smiled faintly. “Take your time. Words or not, I'll figure out what you're asking.” Jim pressed his lips to Spock’s again, deepening the contact. He kept licking at the inside of Spock’s mouth, distressed by the potent mint that overwhelmed the natural flavor. By the time Jim drew back, Spock was almost purring with content. Jim let his thumb rest on Spock’s lower lip, still breathing against his opened lips.

“I love you, Jim.”

It was a quiet confession, almost drowned out by the hum of machinery and beeps of monitors. Jim looked at Spock lying there in his hospital gown, face carved with exhaustion, and hot tears spilled over without warning.

Spock brushed the tears from Jim’s face and pulled him into an embrace. Jim cried freely into his shoulder, and Spock kept murmuring with that wonderful voice rough from disuse.

“_I love you, Jim. I love you._”

*

The recovery ran into a roadblock.

Bones had run the medical tricorder over Spock’s head where it rested against the pillow, and declared Spock had a low grade fever. The cause was a mild virus that only affected Vulcan blood.

Jim could tell Spock wanted to leave the Medical Bay as quickly as possible, uncomfortable in the sterile environment, but Bones watched Spock cough incessantly and refused to release him. 

Jim encouraged Spock to eat, but Spock could only finish half a small portion of weak broth before pushing it away. Jim rested his head on Spock’s mattress, watching him, and Spock ran his fingers through Jim’s hair.

“I am reminded of my childhood years.” Spock paused. “My immune system was not very strong, and I was susceptible to both human and Vulcan illnesses. The long hours I spent in the hospital only served to further alienate me from my peers, and I found my own weakness frustrating.”

Spock kept rubbing his hand against his lips. Jim wondered if the older Vulcan was aware of what he was doing. “Spock, don’t do that. You might reopen your wounds.”

It was alarming to see the cuts healing so slowly on the Vulcan. Jim was used to seeing his first officer perfectly fine the day after returning with the landing party, bloodied and disgruntled.

Jim resumed his responsibilities as Captain. The crew was finally at ease again, and the relief of his first officer showed in the subtle curve of his spine.

Then one day Jim returned to Medical Bay only to be barred by Bones’ upheld hand.

“He’s finally in the healing trance,” the doctor said. “The poison’s finally all out of his system, it must’ve been distracting him from being able to achieve a meditative state. Let’s not bother him.”

So they waited. It took two entire days. 

Jim watched with a chest tight with relief as Spock got out of bed, strength restored and fever gone.

Spock still didn’t feel ready to fully resume his role as ambassador, so he continued to rest in the comfort of Jim’s quarters, analyzing treaty negotiations and projects using Jim’s computer.

Jim was worried that Spock’s internal mechanisms still needed time to come back online, so he wouldn’t let Spock eat the dense replicated meals. Every day when alpha shift ended, Jim took it upon himself to cook enough food to last a couple of days.

Spock was astonished when he saw the carefully prepared food, even more so when he tasted it. “You never told me you have this ability.”

“I lived by myself for most of my life. I had to know how to cook.” Jim shrugged.

Spock stared at his spoon as if still in denial. “Are you certain no artificial flavor enhancers were used in the production of this dish?”

“Spock! Oh my god. Why are you so suspicious of my cooking?”

“. . . I have my reasons.” Jim translated Spock’s words to: _'Your counterpart from my universe was a fucking terrible cook’_.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Even if I did use, like, _MSG_, it can make a dish healthier because you can use less salt.”

“I see. Fascinating.”

They continued to lightly converse like that, in the way they used to when communicating long-distance over their PADDs. Except now, when Spock paused with unease, Jim had the ability to reach out and touch him, projecting his gentle presence. Jim could hug him to his chest and kiss his cheek where the faintest trace of a scar remains over Spock’s nose and around his chin.

When Spock pressed him into the sheets that night, their breaths mingled as their bodies were flush against each other.

Jim’s eyes were closed as he listened to Spock’s soft words in his ear, and when he opened them, he saw Spock’s happiness throughout his entire face.

His smile was beautiful and brilliant as a star.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (or reaching the bottom of the page ^^) I appreciate all kudos and any form of comments! especially the ones w emoji spam 💖💖✨✨
> 
> If you enjoyed the sickfic aspect, [you might like this fluffy ficlet with Ambassador Spock and bedridden Jim ;)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654625)


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